


no more pretenses

by thorins



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, i guess, terror rarepair week 2021, theres no porn sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorins/pseuds/thorins
Summary: For the Terror Rarepair Week 2021 prompt "Don‘t pretend...“.„What is it, Sergeant?“ He asked, knowing who stood behind him without looking. „If this is about,“ he halted, taking a deep breath before closing his bible and laying his hand on top of it, as if he was swearing an oath, as if he was praying „us,“ a pause „then don‘t. Please.“
Relationships: John Irving/Solomon Tozer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	no more pretenses

It was the middle of the night and the wind blew against the stranded ships, wheezing by the windows, cutting through the cheeks of the men on watch, leaving behind dripping cuts that would later struggle to heal. It was the middle of the night and the wind kept droning on outside when Tozer slid the door to Irving‘s cabin open as silently as he could and snuck in, heavy on his feet as always, yet not taken notice of.

John was sitting at his desk, writing a letter or reading the Bible again, Tozer couldn‘t tell. John still hadn‘t noticed him, hadn‘t heard the door sliding closed again or Tozer approaching. The wind kept blowing.

His Bible. John was reading his Bible, Tozer saw now. He was tracing along the lines with his finger, trying to focus as much as he could in the dim light his only candle provided.

Solomon cleared his throat, stood up straighter, his hands tightly clasped together behind his back. Noticed John startling slightly before his shoulders tensed and his breathing staggered. It was quiet outside, the occasional crackle of the lit candle the only audible sound. 

„What is it, Sergeant?“ He asked, knowing who stood behind him without looking. „If this is about,“ he halted, taking a deep breath before closing his bible and laying his hand on top of it, as if he was swearing an oath, as if he was praying „us,“ a pause „then don‘t. Please.“

He sounded like a child afraid of getting yelled at, or worse. Tozer kept staring at the back of his head, as if he could burn a hole through him, as if he could force him to turn around and to look at him. To just look at him.

„We could have had a good thing here, Lieutenant, and you know it.“ Tozer whispered, low enough so no one could hear through the thin door but loud enough for the words to ring through the small cabin. Whistling and howling against the small window, rattling against the glass. Neither of the men paid attention to it.

John whispered something, quietly, fervently. It sounded like a prayer, like he was asking for salvation shortly before starving. Like he was begging for forgiveness after sinning. „Don‘t,“ was his prayer. His God did not respond, and He did not help him that day.

„You know it. I know it. Praying don‘t make it go away,“ Tozer said, his shoulders slumping slightly. „John-,“

„Lieutenant. You call me Lieutenant, Sergeant Tozer,“ he tried for it to sound firm but Tozer could hear the cracks, could hear the doubt. John didn‘t turn around and the wind kept blowing.

„John. Look at me,“ He was close to begging, his shoulder slumping slightly, his hope draining away and burning through the ice underneath the ship, dissipating in the ocean. He didn‘t want to have to beg, didn‘t want to have to kneel down in front of John and see him as his God, praying to him, desperate to be heard, seen, understood.

The chair creaked as John moved. Solomon didn‘t hear. He stood up, hands on the table on either side of the Bible, holding him up, and he turned around and took a step forward. Two. Three. Until he stood right in front of Solomon, staring at his face but not looking into his eyes. „Do not ask this of me,“ he said quietly, now looking down at the floor. It was dirty, and he should get someone to clean it soon, but as of now it seemed to be the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

„Don‘t pretend nothing happened, John.“ 

„I‘m not pretending,“ John answered quickly, his hands balled up in fists at his sides, his fingernails digging into his palms, leaving behind little carvings that looked like moons. Solomon reached forward, slowly, giving John the chance to pull away should he want to take it, and took one of his hands in both of his. John‘s hand was warm and soft and Solomon could hold it in his forever if he had the chance to. He knew he didn‘t and so he quickly brought John‘s hand up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles before John could realize what was happening and pull away.

The wind had slowed down, only a quiet hushing now, so Solomon could hear John‘s soft gasp at the gentle contact. Solomon had never been this gentle with him before, with no one, really. He kissed it again. And again before he felt John‘s grip relax, letting Sol open it and kiss his palm, his fingertips, his wrists.

Sol yanked on John‘s arm, pulling him in closer, letting one hand go from where he was holding onto Johns to rest it on his waist, gripping onto it, as if to prevent him from fleeing like a scared animal. John yelped at the sudden motion, reaching his free hand behind him, either for the table or his Bible to give him steadiness. „Y‘know you want this,“ Solomon whispered in his ear, his breath hot against John‘s neck, making his hair stand up, making goosebumps rise. The wind was still quiet. Sol let his head fall, resting it on top of John‘s shoulder. Their hands were still joined, pressing against both of their chests. 

They stood there quietly for a few seconds, maybe even minutes, Solomon couldn‘t tell, but the candle was close to being burned out. 

Sol felt John relax, felt his head leaning against his own, and he smiled into John‘s shoulder, kissed it, and pulled away slowly to look at his face. 

The marine raised his left hand, leaving John‘s waist bare to cup his face, stroking his thumb against his cheek, wiping away some tears John didn‘t even realize were there. He gave a pat, and let go completely. Let John‘s hand fall back to his side, let his face run cold again with the absence of his touch. „I‘ll come back tomorrow,“ he said resolutely, not leaving room for arguments, and turned around to leave after giving John a grin.

John was rooted to the ground and he felt cold. The wind started howling louder again, bashing against the window, begging to be let in. Just before Tozer could slide open the door, John called out „Wait.“

Tozer let the hand already on the door drop and turned slightly, peering over his shoulder back at John. „Can you stay?“ he asked, whispering it so quietly as if he was afraid of the words themselves. „People would notice,“ came Tozers answer. He still hasn‘t turned around.

„Just for a few minutes. Please.“ 

Solomon turned around and walked back over, taking off his jacket and letting it fall over the back of John‘s chair. Then he moved to the bed, sitting down on it, looking up at John patiently. „Come on, then,“ he said, beckoning John forward with a nod.

John followed, he always did, even if everything in him told him not to. He sat beside Sol on the bed, his hands resting flat on his thighs, avoiding looking at the other man. He didn‘t know what Sol wanted from him, he didn‘t know what he wanted from Sol either. 

Solomon slowly lied down, dragging John with him, until they were both lying on their sides, Tozers hand around John‘s waist, hugging him tightly. John breathed heavily, nervously, before relaxing and closing his eyes. The last thing he felt before falling asleep was a gentle kiss being pressed against his hair and a squeeze on his waist and then nothingness. 

When he woke up in the morning, Tozer was gone and so was any sign of him ever having been there. But John knows, he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> uhmm my first terror fic.. i dont have the characterization or the setting down yet so its rough but anyways..
> 
> my tumblr is billygibson come yell with me there if you wanna


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